


Paths Crossed

by SambliongPalpatine



Category: Highlander: The Series, Supernatural
Genre: Alterations to canon, Animals get injured, Crossover, Dean-licking contest, Dean’s Lady Godiva moment, F/M, Love, M/M, Multi, Richie’s curls, Sam’s multiple bitch-faces, Silas isn’t happy, Smut, Swordplay, Time Travel, attempted non-con, mentions of child-abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:41:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 18
Words: 16,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25294852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SambliongPalpatine/pseuds/SambliongPalpatine
Summary: When time travel and immortality are involved it’s amazing to see the paths people’s lives take and how they intersect with others. And how an evil lurking in the shadows has three threads coming together to stop it.
Relationships: Caspian/Jess/Sam, Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, Kronos/Dean Winchester, Kronos/Dean/Methos, Methos (Highlander)/Richie Ryan, Methos/Dean Winchester, Methos/Dean/Richie, Methos/Sam Winchestee(Unrequited)
Comments: 57
Kudos: 25





	1. First Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my friend DarkAngel’s fic it’s a Highlander/Supernatural crossover it’s really good! Give it a read

1995 Seacouver Washington 

Methos pov. 

The first time Methos saw the young immortal, was when he and MacLeod got back from Paris.

A shock of red-gold curls framing flawless skin, sky blue eyes, kissable lips, all that youthful beauty preserved by immortality forever. If he didn’t lose his head that is. 

Richie Ryan. 

Not just young in immortal terms, but having only been 19 when his first death occurred. His stay in foster care and then his life as a street kid didn’t seem to have diminished his youthful optimism and passion for life. 

And that besides the physical attraction, is what drew the oldest immortal to Richie from the start.

He didn’t know at the time that lively spark would be temporarily eclipsed by a dark quickening: the teacher trying to take their student’s head. 

Richie, who reminds Methos of another youth, but with green eyes instead of blue. The parallels bring a mixture of sadness, confusion, love, lust and hope. 

Methos won’t lose Richie like he did Dean. As the oldest immortal he has plenty of regrets. He doesn’t need one more. 

I


	2. One is the Loneliest Number

1999 Colorado 

Dean’s pov: 

one is the loneliest number that you’ll ever do Two can be as bad as one It’s the loneliest number since the number one

Radio is aggressively switched to another station. ~ when I dial the telephone nobody’s home ALL BY MYSELF 

"Oh come   
on," Dean shouts, slamming the radio off, then belatedly apologizing to Baby.

Sam is at college and his Dad is Hell knows where. Neither has picked up the phone; Sam since leaving and his Dad not for a week. 

"Is a ‘hey I’m alive‘ text or call too much to ask?" he glares at his phone before tossing it onto the passenger seat. 

Pulling into the camp ground, stoping in front of a tree and contemplating what to do. In the end he opts for pulling a beer out of the cooler and grab the sandwich he’d gotten at the gas station a while back. 

Stumbling out the car, his legs like jelly from driving so long, he sits on the hood of the Impala to eat his sandwich and drink his beer

As he eats, he wonders what’s the point if he’s the only one trying to keep his family together and being the one left behind. 

That’s how he finds himself in the middle of nowhere, Colorado, having stumbled across the weirdest case he’s been on so far. 

“ Alone again, naturally “ he sings to himself.Sadly, it’s not a new feeling.

There might have been one time when he hadn’t felt alone. Thinking of a kid with blue eyes and ridiculously curly hair puts a melancholy smile on his face. 

He can’t think about it now, he’s got a case to focus on. He wishes there was someone he could call to consult on it because there are pieces about it that don’t flt. 

The reports indicated corpses drained of blood and some funny bags or objects were found on them. It sounded like both a vampire and a witch. 

"Hmm, would that make it a ‘wichempire’? Or a ‘Vampitch‘?" he laughs. 

Focus Dean, he tells himself, this is serious. Surprisingly all the victims were some of the filth humanity had to offer. From a pedophile teacher, to a conman that scammed elders out of all their savings, to an abusive husband. Dean doesn’t feel too bad for them, but these cases eventually end up with actual innocent casualties. 

He finishes the last of his beer and sandwich before grabbing his machete and gun, he leaves   
his car parked in the campground a little outside of town.

He walks through the woods for 30 min before reaching the clearing that a few locals said had a strange altar with symbols on it. Dean can’t even place what they are. 

With an altar and deaths of bad humans, it could have sounded like a trickster if you didn’t include the hex bags and blood draining.

Nope, instead Dean gets a Vampire-witch combo wrapped in a teenage angst romance novel plot where Sabrina was trying to keep her Vampire boyfriend fed and alive while she looked for a cure. 

Asking why twilight couldn’t live off blood bags, like some vampires he’s come across is a mistake. 

Because she goes into a long monologue about how that doesn’t help with his hunger and somehow interferes with her spell to cure him and blah blah blah. 

Dean has tuned her out by then. Not that he doesn’t get it, love makes you do crazy things and all that, but how long until the next victims aren’t just assholes while she is trying to find a cure. 

Because she won’t use blood bags for some reason again. 

Machete in hand he goes for twilight, who for a vamp is kind of slow, and it isn’t long before Dean takes his head. 

Now the witch is screaming at him, furious. “You  
killed my love!” she yells dramatically. 

Power wraps around him crushing him to the ground. 

"Our love doesn’t matter to you, hunter? We are just monsters to you?” she goes on. 

Dean would roll his eyes right now if he wasn’t being crushed to the ground by an invisible force. 

“Maybe you should have stuck to the blood bags instead of leaving corpses,“ he manages to gasp out.

"You’ve  
ripped my live away from me,” she’s now saying.

Dean doesn’t care, he would like to just breathe at the moment. He hears her say “ let’s see how you like being ripped from those you love,” If it’s possible the pressure around him builds that he swears he’s going to turn to goo soon. Then a flash of white blinding light before nothing.


	3. Is this the Past?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s note; I would say first time fic writer. AU a bit for both Highlander and Supernatural. And a bit off on the math when taking into account dates and ages, if that bothers you(reader) don’t read. Hope to help fix the lack of Dean and Richie love in both fandoms. Oh and a thank you to you, MalicMalic , TheAnderfelsOne and Messing. Lol there I did a little Oscar speech thanking the important people at the end😅.

Chapter Three  
Bronze Age 

Dean wakes up dizzy and disorientated,weary of what he may find once he opens his eyes fully. He doesn’t feel grass beneath him anymore so that rules the clearing out. 

Great. 

"I hate witches," he says to no one in particular,  
groaning holding his pounding head in one hand. 

He can’t see much from his laying position but apparently he’s inside a tent of some kind. It looks well-lived, considering the clothIng, cushions and other items strewn around. 

Great. 

He may not be able to see much but his ears seem to be just fine. So through the fog in his head he can hear screaming and metal clashing and frantic footsteps and thundering hooves. Complete chaos. 

Dean is slowly sitting up, the sounds outside making him more alert, looking around for some sort of weapon because if this is to be his end, he won’t be caught unaware. Because of course his machete and gun didn’t make it. 

Suddenly there’s a woman and a child bursting in-dressed in what can only be described as Conan the Barbarian fashion- they look scared and unthreatening so Dean relaxes a little. 

"Good, you are awake," the woman says, sounding relieved. "I would have had to leave you otherwise.”

An involuntary shudder runs down Dean’s spine at the thought of being left here  
and he has to clear his throat twice before speaking. "Uh, who are you? Where the hell am I? What’s going on?" he asks all in a row. 

"My name is Nahren," she introduces quickly. "I found you near a valley the day before and what is happening is that the horsemen have come, those they don’t slaughter they enslave," she explains hurriedly. "So we have to flee to this system of caves where they won’t find us."

Dean is left with many questions like who or what are the horsemen, but this isn’t the time to ask. 

So still unsure of the details of the whys, wheres and whats, Dean jumps to his feet and hastens to help her grab whatever provisions they can before escaping through the backside of the tent. 

As they weave through the other tents with their heads lowered and bundles of provisions on their shoulders they come across what resembles a slaughterhouse. Dean’s gut churns, and he’s seen some nasty stuff in his hunts. 

Dean swallows the bile down. "Should we try to save them?" he asks, refering to the scatter of people running whichever way. 

Nahren shakes her head. "There is no time. Those who survive know to find the valley of caves to hide," she says. 

Dean doesm’t like it, it’s not in his nature not to help, but he knows she’s right

. Luckily, he comes across an abandoned spear and a crude-bronze sword so he feels less vulnerable, even if his experience is limited with either weapon. 

Still, now being able to protect and defend his companions and himself has his mood improving. 

He has Nahren and her daughter walk before him as they go through a patch of tall, weed-like grass. 

It’s easier like that for Dean to make sure no one was coming for them. Besides she knows the way, he doesn’t. 

Right as they are about halfway to the valley of caves, the thunderous hooves are closing in on them. There’s shouting and then a spear is flying past Dean, scrapping Nahren’s face and embeding itself in the ground in front of them. 

Dean drops the weapons and sprints to her side. Fortunately it’s just a shallow cut though he still wraps a cloth around it. It’s better to be cautious than regret later. 

"Now listen," he starts, channeling John Winchester talking to a braty Sammy.  
. "You’re going to take the provisions and your daughter and you’re going to get to the caves while I distract them."

"But-" she of course starts to protest. 

"Now," he cuts her off snarply. 

Nahren gives him one last look as she gathers what provisions she can, pushes her daughter in front of her and goes. 

. Once Dean knows they are headed towards safety, he quickly makes his way back to where he’d dropped his spear and bronze sword. He wishes he had one of those cool sword-holsters like in the movies to keep the sword.

He has no time for silly wishes however, because a horseman is headed his way. 

Dean takes his chance and throws the spear at him hitting the masked rider in the shoulder and knocking him off his horse. 

"Hell yeah," he exclaims in utter surprise for having hit his mark.


	4. The Raid

Bronze Age 

Methos pov: current village raiding: 

The horsemen have come to raid a bigger nomadic village this time. Sometimes these villages present resistance in the form of a few warriors. As Methos pulls his sword from the last one, he almost  
feels guilty. Almost. 

He sometimes thinks it’s a little sad but he doesn’t dwell on it. He turns on his horse to survey what’s happening. 

The rest of the villagers are either dead, trying to flee or already rounded up as slaves to take back to camp. 

As he is looking around, he notices some villagers trying to escape towards the back of the village leading to a valley of caves that would make finding them difficult. 

Oh no, we can’t have that. 

Kicking his horse into a gallop, he starts to run them down. He uses the blunt end of his spear to knock the unconscious all those who tried to flee. 

Except for one man, woman and child who were ahead of the rest, already half -way down the valley. 

Switching the spear around so the pointed edge is facing forward, Methos throws it. The spear flies through the air, missing the young man but nicks the woman on the face before burying itself in the earth. 

He watches the man rush to her side and hurriedly but carefully inspect the scrape. Methos knows it isn’t serious and yet the man covers it with a piece of cloth. Then he helps her grab the provisions he let fall and shouts something at the other two. 

Methos can’t hear what he said but he can guess what it was when he sees the woman and child make their way to the caves. 

The man turns around, going to recuperate his discarded weapons, weighing each in a hand. 

As Methos and his horse are right on him, the man choses the spear, and just like Methos did before, throws it hurtling into the air. 

Methos wants to laugh because there is no way- 

It hits Methos in the shoulder, shattering his collarbone and knocking him off his horse.


	5. Shot Through The...

Bronze Age 

Dean’s pov. 

Dean can’t help but stare as the horseman is knock off his steed. Ha, and to think he’s never used a spear before. 

Maybe the Winchester luck is finally improving. But that’s a thought to explore later, after he finishes this and gets himself to safety. 

Sword in hand Dean makes his way to the fallen man, who seems to be unconscious, with every intention of dealing the final blow. 

He’d feel sorry for kicking an enemy when he’s already down but well, he did raid this village so. 

As he raises the weapon and places the tip over the man’s gut he has a mind of saying something like ‘any last words?’ or something equally as catchy but the man may actually take him up in his offer, so nope. 

He lifts the sword to gain force and in that moment the man’s eyes fly open and look up straight at Dean, dark behind the mask. Dean doesn’t stop to think about it and just brings the sword down, piercing the man’s gut making his eyes fall shut again. 

Dean yanks the sword free intent on turning around and follow to where Nahren and her daughter went then he remembers the spear still embedded in the man and considers going for it. 

But the sound of quickly approaching hooves makes him leave the spear behind and just run. 

"Methos!" comes a shout. 

Dean isn’t even ten feet away from the fallen masked-man when he’s being shot down with an arrow. 

In the ass, of all the places. 

He can almost  
picture. Sam’s patented bitch-face and a judgmental ‘really Dean?’ but the situation is dire enough that he doesn’t indulge his mind. 

Making sure he lands on his side and not his back, he quickly assesses the damage. The arrow hasn’t pierced too deep into the muscle, thankfully. So in theory it’d be easy to pull it out and make a run for it. 

If only the person who’d shot him wasn’t right on him. 

Yeah, what was that about the Winchester luck again?


	6. Forest-green Eyes and Stars on His Skin

Bronze Age 

Methos POV

Methos lays on the ground, pain cursing through his body due to his shattered collarbone and severed artery. The fall from his horse had made the pain increase. 

The spear is still imbedded in his right shoulder which is impeding on his healing so he should take it out sooner rather than later. 

Before he has the chance to lift his left hand to remove the spear, however, he senses movement right next to him. The sound of footsteps and of metal cutting through air has Methos’ eyes flying open and what he sees makes him pause; forest-green eyes framed by a beautiful face. 

It would be a breathtaking sight if the young man didn’t bring the sword down into his gut, thus killing him. 

Temporarily dying is never fun. 

When he opens his eyes again the spear is out and his wounds are healing quite nicely. He tests it by rolling his shoulder and even when there is still a twinge of pain, it moves smoothly. 

"Hey!" someone shouts. 

A familiar laugh answers. That gets Methos’ attention, who turns his head to search for the source. His brother is kneeling over the young man and has a bloody arrow in one hand. The boy is covering a spot in his ass where Kronos apparently shot him. 

That must have hurt. 

Methos sits up laughing along. At the sound, Kronos leaves the boy still in the ground to go help his fallen brother to his feet. 

"Really brother, knocked off your horse by a pretty youth?" he teases, patting Methos on his uninjured shoulder once he is up. As he looks at his healing collarbone he grows serious. "I’m glad the spear didn’t hit you any higher," he growls lowly. 

Methos couldn’t agree more. Though the reminder of how close the boy was of getting him on the neck angers him. 

He unsheathes his sword, pushing past his brother walking toward the boy. He had recuperated a little while Kronos was with Methos. 

Upon reaching the young man Methos kicks him back down, earning a grunt as the boy undoubtedly landed on his injured buttock. 

Good. 

Pointing his sword to the man’s neck, he takes a moment to study the boy-or rather young man’s, face. 

His previous assessment had been right; the boy is beautiful. His forest-green eyes with those thick lashes any woman would be jealous of, the bone structure that gives his face a soft and hard complexion. He has flawless, fair skin dusted with tiny stars that compliment his coloring perfectly and oh, those lips. 

Plump and lush that Methos can’t help imagine in various... situations. 

He seems to have a strong and lean-muscled body but his clothing covers almost every inch of it so Methos will be doing a closer inspection to corroborate this later. 

It has been a while since he’s felt this attracted to anyone. Not since Cassandra. 

Kronos has come to stand by his side now, to stare down at their captive. 

Damn, Methos thinks, he doesn’t want to share this one with his brother.

“It looks like we’ve got ourselves another fiery one, haven’t we, brother?" Kronos says, smirking wickedly. 

A flicker of fear crosses the boy’s eyes for a fleeting moment before being replaced with defiance. Fiery indeed. 

Yes, Methos doesn’t want to share. 

He knows this will be tricky but he will set his foot down on it. "Brother," he starts in a firm voice. "I will make you a deal; I will share him with you twice at the beginning and then he’s only mine," he says seriously. 

Kronos stares at him in a mixture of surprised, impressed and angry. 

Methos doesn’t give him the chance to speak. "You owe me. For what happened with Cassandra," he says coldly. "So you will only get two times and then I keep him," he says.

After a long, silent look Kronos finally nods in acquiescence. "Whatever you say, brother," he says. 

Thinking his injury incapacitating, neither pays attention to the young man. So it takes them by surprise when he manages to pull Kronos’ feet from under him and snag his sword.


	7. Immortal Assholes

Bronze Age 

Dean POV

The asshole laughs as he pulls the arrow out of Dean’s ass. Then, to his utmost surprise, the guy he’d knocked off his horse and thought he’d killed joins in the other’s laughter. 

What kind of creature is this guy? Dean is sure he had delivered a fatal blow. He should be dead. 

And yet... and yet there he is; standing next to the other guy, laughing. 

Then, because apparently he’s an equal dick as his friend, the-should-be-dead dude kicks him back down and of course he has to land on his injured ass. 

Things can only get trickier though,because in the blink of an eye the not-dead guy has his sword pointed at his neck. 

Which is great. 

Dean doesn’t like his current position; these two crazy guys are standing over him, discussing him as if he wasn’t there. The asshole that shot him, named Kronos, and dead-not-dead guy, named Methos (and what kind of names are those?), are giving Dean heated looks. Looks he doesn’t like. 

He would take the anger any time to the darker glint their eyes have now. Doesn’t matter if he’s received such looks from men and women throughout his life. 

When the two start arguing about who will keep him and how many times they will be sharing him, using a Cassandra as argument, Dean is positive that he doesn’t want to end up like her. Getting caught between these guys sounds far from ideal. 

He’s experience with men is limited to one time, long ago. When he‘d been too young to have been in a situation like that. 

His dad had gone on a hunting trip, leaving them enough to get by for two weeks. 

At the end of those weeks they had barely enough to get by and there was no word from their father. 

With a growing Sammy and his seemingly bottomless stomach Dean was starting to despair. 

Dean was 15 and considering desperate measures; like stealing, when the young employee of the motel had let slip the tip about the nice hotel in town where rich people went to hire young lovers. 

So that’s how Dean had sold himself as a gigolo for a dead-beat dad and an ungrateful little brother. 

To Dean’s relieved surprise the experience wasn’t so scarring and he’d gotten the money he needed. His first client had been a middle-aged woman who probably had been beautiful when she was younger. She had rode him with intensity while Dean went on and on about how beautiful he thought she was. 

He had ended the night with 250 bucks and the reference to a man she knew and who she promised wasn’t a creepy old man and that he wouldn’t hurt him. 

She had been right. 

The guy was in his earlier thirties and looked like one of those WWE men that Dean wasn’t going to lie, made him nervous. 

But just as with the woman, he’d lucked out. The guy just wanted a blow job and manhandle him around while kissing and licking him everywhere, as if he were the tastiest candy ever.   
This had earned him 300 bucks, his fill of wine and chocolate in some odd places. All this he could live with. 

Especially if it left him with $550 at the end of the night. 

What makes his sacrifice pointless is that their dad is back the next day. And much to his brother’s loud protests, and Dean’s quiet ones, he had them packing and skipping town yet again. 

This here though? This isn’t like that time. Here and now he wouldn’t sell himself for his dead-beat dad and his ungrateful little brother. 

No. Because here he didn’t luck out. These men look at him without consideration; they would only take and take and not give anything back. 

So, using their distraction to his advantage, he kicks the dark-haired man’s-the asshole who shot him in the ass- feet from under him and manages to steal his sword in the process. 

It’s all very painful due to his injury but it’s worth it when he’s put distance between them. 

"First of all assholes," he spits. “I’m nobody’s anything so you can shut it with your idea of sharing me," he states, throwing each a glare for good measure. "And second, what the hell are you for that blow not to kill you? Some sort of vampire or a ghoul?" he asks looking at the both of them but meaning his questions for the should-be-dead guy. 

The helmet of the dark-haired man tumbled off his head when he fell so now Dean can see his face clearly. He has a scar on his right eye and the left side of his face covered in tattoos. And is smirking at him. "We are immortals," he says, as if that was explanation enough. 

The confusion must be evident on Dean’s face because the other one, with lighter hair and blue tribal paint along one side of his face, clarifies. "It means we can’t die."

Immortal assholes. Fanfuckingtastic.


	8. What Winchester Luck?

Bronze Age 

Dean’s pov

As it’s happened before, Dean’s smart-mouth makes the situation worse. 

"It means we can’t die," the light-haired guy clarifies. 

Dean stares at them for a moment without reacting. And just like that, he bursts out laughing, he’s aware this makes him look like a crazy person but well, cut him some slack. 

He was sent back in time, he helped a woman and her child escape a masacre only to be caught by some crazy people that claim they can’t die. 

So yeah, he’s allowed to laugh. 

When he’s laughed his fill and Dean calms down, he studies the man with brown hair and blue paint covering one side of his face carefully. "There’s always a way to kill something," he says thoughtfully. "Chopping off the head always does the trick."

At those words, the horsemen’s demeanors change. They look like they are preparing for a fight. 

That, Dean does know how to do. 

The black-haired man chuckles derisively. "Hear that, Methos? This pretty boy thinks he can take us," he turns to his brother with a mocking smile. "Tell you what, if he gets one of us, we’ll let him go," he says with a smile. But there’s something in that gesture that Dean doesn’t like. 

It’s as if they already knew the outcome of the fight. But being supposedly immortal doesn’t give you the power to see the future. 

So Dean still has a chance, he can hold his own in a fair fight. "Okay so, I beat one of you and I go free. That the deal, right?” at the others’ nods, he nods to himself. "Challenge accepted."

Now here is to hoping his injury won’t slow him or that his lack of skill with a sword doesn’t make it difficult for him. Upon further inspection, Dean figures that it is like a longer version of a machete so no problem. Maybe. 

He adopts a loose but alert fighting stance. Ready for whichever one of them he’ll be facing. 

The guy named Kronos takes a few steps forward, smiling unnervingly. Dean wants to punch him on the face. 

The other one, Methos, takes his own steps back. "Please don’t damage my property too badly, brother," he says without really sounding like a warning, instead he sounds amused. 

Kronos winks at Dean, though he talks to his friend. "Don’t worry brother, I won’t damage this pretty boy. Much,” he says. A shadow of something glimmers in his eyes for a moment. 

"Alright Conan-cast reject, bring it on," he goads on. 

In his life, Dean has learnt that delivering the first blow usually gives you the upper hand. So, as quickly as he can and without giving the man a chance, he thrusts forward and watches in satisfaction as blood oozes from a wound on the man’s side. 

Victory is short-lived, however, this doesn’t seem to deter the other man. 

At all. 

Quick as a whip, Kronos starts coming at him with fast, precise strokes of his blade. Damn, Dean wasn’t counting on a healing factor. 

The man parries his blows easily but Dean isn’t doing a poor job himself. He dodges and hits and even lands some kicks. 

After a few moments of landing his fair share of strikes, kicks and punches, Dean is starting to slow down from exhaustion and the pain of his injury. Contrary to his opponent, who doesn’t look tired nor hindred by his injury. 

Dean knows, much to his dismay, that he won’t be lasting much longer. Even when, for this to be his first time, he’s doing great with a sword. 

One slow block on Dean’s part is all it takes. The other man gets him in the stomach with the pommel of his sword which causes Dean to double over so it’s easy for Kronos to disarm him. 

Dean, however, is skilled in hand-to-hand combat so this ain’t over yet. 

Still a little winded from the punch to the gut, and a little desperate, he charges into the man, making the two of them tumble to the ground. The man wasn’t expecting that move so he isn’t prepared to break his fall. Perfect opportunity for Dean to twist the sword out of his hands though that in turn earns him a suckerpunch to the face that would probably bruise spectacularly. He rolls off the guy and of course has to land on his ass. 

And son of a bitch, that hurt. 

But Dean won’t give in so easily and before the other man can get to his feet he kicks him back down so they end up tosseling on the ground once again. 

"Weren’t you supposed to be fighting him, brother? Or are you that eager to start on one of your two times with him?" Dean hears Methos’ amused voice say. 

Kronos laughs, not even a little breathless, as he manages to pin Dean down underneath him. Sometime in their tossle the guy had snagged his sword back, that now presses against Dean’s throat. "Do you surrender, pretty boy?" he asks, eyes glinting which belies nothing good for the hunter. 

Dean doesn’t answer, there is no need. 

Curse that non-existent Winchester luck.


	9. Who Is the One Being Punished Here?

Bronze Age 

Methos’ pov

Methos enjoyed watching the fight. Even if Kronos had held back a little and the boy’s injury , the fight had been good. 

He can’t deny he is impressed, he can tell even his brother is, too. He knows because Kronos didn’t do his usual taunting game he normally does when facing a weaker opponent before going for the kill. Or just that thing he does where he wounds or maim the unlucky one so severely that would make living miserable. 

He would go as far as saying that for his brother this had been like a twisted version of foreplay. That is why he had jested about Kronos wanting to start on one of his two times he will have with the boy.

Methos walks over to them. The boy is just laying there, on his back with a sword against his throat and yet he doesn’t look defeated. 

"Not bad, for one so pretty," he says, smirking. He crouches down next to the young man so he can card a hand through the dark-gold hair, and it is as soft as it looks, before gripping it tightly at the back of his neck. "If you surrender now we won’t go after your companions," he says in his quiet, serious voice. 

After giving him a steely look, the boy’s body goes lax in acceptance. It doesn’t last long though, after Kronos’ question he tenses again. "What’s your name, pretty boy?" he asks, tapping the underside of his chin with the flat of the blade. 

The young man glares at him. "Well it sure as shit ain’t ‘pretty boy,’” he spits. 

Methos uses the grip he has on the boy’s hair to yank his head back. "Answer the question,” he demands harshly. 

"It’s Dean, okay? My name’s Dean, assholes,” he spats. 

Methos pats him on the cheek with his free hand satisfied. "Well Dean. You are alive because we so wish it, make no mistake. You belong to us," but that doesn’t really sit well with him so he amends. “You belong to me now."

Kronos grunts but says nothing. He just removes his sword and sheathes it before helping Methos haul the boy up. 

Unexpectedly, his brother gets his precious slim dagger out with a wicked glimmer in his eyes and Methos thinks he may start on one of his games after all. 

He runs the tip enticingly slow down the boy’s throat until it reaches the collar of his shirt and stops there. "Hmm, I think I have the perfect punishment for our pretty slave," he says, throwing a wink at Methos. Then  
he starts tearing through the fabric. 

"Hey! What the-“ the boy starts to protest but it’s too late for that. “Don’t you dare touch the necklace," he says firmly. To Dean’s apparent surprise, Kronos listens to him and leaves the weird embelishment alone. 

As the strips of clothing pile on the floor, tan smooth skin is uncovered and Methos’ breath catches in his throat when the man is standing naked but for his necklace and boots. 

My gods, Methos thinks as he admires the beautiful sight. He is equally turned on and confused by this situation because he can’t see where his brother is going with this punishment. 

He turns to his brother who gives him a cheeky grin. "He is to be ridding back with you. Naked."

Oh. Fuck.


	10. Hey, Lady Godiva

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ... riding throughout town naked on your big white horse

Hey, Lady Godiva

Bronze Age 

Dean’s Pov 

When Methos offered not to go after Nahren and her daughter Dean knew what he had to do; yeah he would surrender (for now) because there is no way in any... timeline he would accept his fate as a slave just like that. But the mother and daughter are innocent and they had helped him so he’ll do this for them. 

Hopefully without a third mouth to feed their supplies will last them long enough until they reach another village. 

Sending a silent prayer to whomever may be listening, Dean lets them pull him to his feet. 

He nearly breaths a sigh of relief when Kronos sheathes his sword. Nearly. Because of course he has to pull a dagger out and in some sort of macabre foreplay runs the tip oh so slowly down Dean’s throat, until reaching the collar of his shirt. "I have the perfect punishment for our pretty slave," he says and okay that doesn’t sound promising. 

That’s confirmed when the asshole starts ripping his shirt appart. 

"Hey! What the-" he starts to protest. 

In vain because now his favorite shirt lays in a pile on the floor. His black Metallica t-shirt, that reminded him of the time he snuck off after a hunt to go see one of their concerts, is now nothing but shreds. 

"The necklace stays," he says vehemently when the man started inching the dagger back up, toward the necklace. To his surprise, Kronos listens and leaves it alone. 

He’ll take his victories where he can. 

To his complete dismay, however, the guy doesn’t stop with his shirt. Nope, he carelessly butchers the rest of Dean’s clothes and almost nicks him in some sensitive places, the jackass. 

So now he’s standing almost as naked as the day he was born. The only cover he’s wearing is his necklace and boots. 

He feels ridiculous. It’s not because he’s ashamed of his body, no. He knows he has a nice body and he is really proud of it. It’s just- I mean... he is sure he is breaking some unspoken rule of etiquette. 

You know, that rule that says "you shall never end up in only your shoes and socks in front of a girl." Or was it just socks? It was something like that, Dean can’t remember completely. That show, Coupling, had taught him many other things. 

Whoops, his thoughts got sidetracked again. Focus Dean, he mentally chastises himself. 

"... riding with you. Naked."

Wait, what did that guy just say about him riding naked? Well, that ain’t the worse punishment ever. 

Considering Dean had expected Kronos to pounce on him the moment he’d finished ripping his clothes, riding in the nude isn’t bad at all. 

Dean knows this is meant to humiliate and maybe even scare him but he doesn’t feel neither scared nor humiliated. And even if he did he’d be damned before he showed it. 

It may be uncomfortable at most; riding with your lower half in direct contact with the saddle and one of your buttcheeks injured doesn’t exactly scream comfort. But he’ll wing it. 

And no one knows this, but a Godiva moment has been a fantasy of Dean’s. The whole riding a horse naked sounds kind of freeing. 

Besides, you gotta try everything once, right? Within reasonable limits, of course. 

Hah, and here these assholes were, thinking this would be torture for Dean. Well, they have another thing coming. 

After all, he isn’t blind to the heated looks they’ve been throwing his way ever since he was declothed. Or as ‘declothed’ as he can be still wearing his necklace and boots. Which come to think of it, is good news for when he tries to escape. He wouldn’t want to do it barefoot. 

They tie his hands in front of him, because shooting him in the ass isn’t enough, and make him walk in the middle with Methos in front and Kronos in the rear. 

Dean smirks to himself as he sways his hips. ‘Enjoy the show, jackass,’ he thinks, as he follows Methos to his horse. 

Once they reach it, Methos mounts first and then leans down to grasp Dean’s bound wrists and pull him up. Kronos comes closer to help by putting a hand on each of his hips. The man leans forward enough to bring their bodies into contact and so he can quickly whisper ‘soon’ then lick the shell of his ear to seal the deal and finally give Dean the impulse he needed. 

And because he is a dick, he helps Dean up the wrong way. So instead of facing forward as one does, he is facing backwards. 

He, of course, is facing Methos. 

Not only that but he seems to be sort of straddling the guy. If having his legs around someone’s waist while in horseback can count as such. They are so close that their groins are grinding together and no motter Methos’ clothes between them, Dean can feel him getting hard. 

Maybe Kronos wanted to punish his brother too. 

Dean can also be an asshole (and he also doesn’t want to fall and break his face) he wraps his bound arms around Methos’ neck to bring them even closer. So now they look like they are engaged in a lovers’ embrace or maybe as if they were enacting a scene from a barbarian gay porno. I mean the props are all there; the scenery, the guy in armor with Dean naked practically on his lap and of course the horse. 

Now that he is on it, Dean thinks he can give Kronos such a show that he would get jealous and so turned on that it would be painful while riding. It’s the least the asshole would deserve. 

"Come brother, we ride!" calls the other once he is back on his own horse. 

As Methos motions his steed on, the canter sends a jolt of pain through Dean’s body, damn he hadn’t considered this part. 

He gasps and arches his back to try relieve some pressure off his injured butt. 

That motion causes him to grind harder against Methos. The man groans and grabs Dean’s hip almost bruise-like. "Stop moving," he says through gritted teeth. 

To which Dean snaps. "Well sorry but horse-riding isn’t comfortable when you’ve been shot in the ass."

The only reply he gets is Methos’ hand moving from his hip to rest on the underside of his thigh to make a cushion for his wound. 

They are so close they could kiss; like in a scene of a cheesy romance novel, not that Dean knows anything of those. 

Or they could just as well be having sex, considering their positions and how the horse’s up and down motions are doing nothing for Methos’ under-the-belt problem. 

Yeah, Kronos is totally punishing his brother, Dean thinks, smiling like a minx. Not that anyone could see it with his head against Methos’ shoulder.


	11. Sweet Temptation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So happy birthday to me wow, I’m old now

Bronze Age 

Methos pov 

After rounding up the new slaves, their two brothers join them on the way. They all seem pretty satisfied with the results of the raid which translates into a peaceful ride. 

Except for Methos. For him the trip back to the fortress is sweet torture. The evidence of how much he is enjoying having the beautiful naked slave on his lap is accentuated by this constant bouncing and grinding due to the horse’s motions. Though Methos has the suspicion that the little minx is doing some of it on purpose. 

He also has the conviction that Kronos wanted to punish him too when he suggested this. He is probably crossed with Methos for only being willing to share the boy twice. 

Half-way back Methos is positively ready to just halt the horse, jump down with the boy and all but ravish him right then amd there.   
Without regard for who may see them. 

Luckily they reach their destination before he can act on it. Well ‘luckily’ depending on the point of view because he is still going to ravish the boy. 

The fortress that serves as camp is a small, but still decent-sized, crude-stone structure with a wooden gate. When Methos walks inside, Kronos has already dismounted and is barking his usual orders of locking the captives in the pen with simple food and water to be sorted in the morning. 

As the new slaves are spirited away, Methos jumps off his mount and helps his boy down. The gasp of pain he lets out draws Kronos’ attention who only smiles, pleased with his handiwork. 

"You better tend to that, brother," he comments casually as he retreats inside. "We wouldn’t want that pretty ass to get scarred."

Methos ignores him and instead wraps an arm around Dean’s waist and starts for his own chamber. 

This fortress even when small, it’s bigger than their previous camp. Here they each have their own space far from the other. Which is, of course, good. 

The walk to his quarters is short. Methos can’t help the amused grin when he sees the reactions from his slaves; pity, curiosity and appreciation, some gasp when they see the new boy with his hands bound and a wound on his ass. 

"Draw a bath and bring food," he commands, getting his slaves into motion. 

Methos leads them to the back of the room where the tub is being filled. He cuts Dean’s bounds and then grabs him by the hair to gain his attention. 

"Undress me," he orders quietly. 

Dean glares at the rough treatment but does what he’s asked to without complaint. He removes Methos’ gauntlets first and then with very deft fingers starts unlacing the fastenings of cloak and shirt; as he pushes the garments off his fingers brush Methos’ skin, wich leaves a pleasant tingle behind and the horseman can’t help but moan quietly. 

When he is finished with that, the boy glances down at Methos’ remaining clothes, as if considering leaving those to the man. So Methos grabs him by the hair again. "Those too," he confirms. 

The boy glares again but sinks to his knees with a flinch. Probably because of his injury. 

The boy’s long, strong fingers start unbuckling and untying and fleetingly touching Methos which only added to the already raging fire. Inside him. 

The boy removes the boots and places them to the side before hooking those fingers in Methos’ pants and pulls them down. His erection comes springing out a couple inches away from Dean’s face. 

At the boy’s nervous swallow, Methos smirks. "You better start getting used to it," he says, loving the defiant expression on the boy’s face. 

Methos grabs him by the hair again and yanks him back up. "Now," he starts measuredly, "get into the tub and start washing yourself," he says, pointing in the direction of the already filled tub. 

Methos takes a moment to just admire his boy. He has a beautifully muscled back with smooth skin that ends in perfectly round globes which are half submerged. 

He gets into the bath,washing his hair and shoulders before an idea comes to mind. 

"Pretty one, come here," he motions for him to come closer. 

Reluctantly, the boy does waddle toward him as Methos turns to grab the scented oils. 

Methos lathers some of the oil between his hands and then starts massaging it into Dean’s hair. The boy grunts softly and lets his head fall back, leaving his delightful neck exposed. 

Methos gets distracted from his task by laying kisses, nips and licks around that neck, painting it in what will be lovely bruises. When Dean moans, however, he is reminded that the bath isn’t where he wants to take the young man. 

He wants to lay him out on the bed and calmly explore and memorize the beautiful body. So he makes quick work of the rest of their washing and steps out of the tub, followed by the boy. 

Slaves rush over with cloths to dry them. They do it quickly but efficiently and once they are done, Methos wastes no time in grabbing Dean by the waist to haul him to the bed. 

He doesn’t lay him down immediately; he instead resumes kissing and licking Dean’s neck while his hands explore the boy’s firm chest. 

With one hand   
Methos tilts Dean’s head back so he can plunder his mouth, his other hand teasing a nipple. Dean leans back against Methos’ chest; now his cock is snug between very shapely and warm globes. 

Methos can’t take it anymore. 

He spins the boy around in his arms and kisses him harder and hungrier than before. "You know what is about to happen, don’t you?" he asks quietly. 

Dean nods. 

"Good." Methos says, caressing Dean’s cheek. "Don’t fight it and I’ll make it good for you."

Another nod and so Methos pushes him down onto the furs, making him turn onto his stomach. 

Methos puts his mouth and hands to work; kissing and massaging the tension away from that tantalizing body. He kisses and licks every inch of the gorgeous back, enjoying the feeling of smooth skin under his lips. 

His hands rub with enough force to melt his knots off but without hurting him which elicits soft moans from Dean. And then he finally arrives to that delectable ass. 

He grabs the uninjured cheek in one hand and places the other beneath the injury. He kneads the meaty globes before pushing them apart to discover the rosy ring of muscles inbetween. 

The young man is still a little tense, fortunately Methos has the perfect remedy. He gives a first tentative swipe with his tongue and when this makes a tremor run down Dean’s spine Methos does it again. After a few more swipes he delves his tongue into that intense heat and licks until he has Dean groaning and squirming under him. 

Methos stops his ministrations and makes the young man roll back, he kisses him quickly before standing up and moving to retreave a small bottle of oil he keeps stored in a small chest. He walks back to the gorgeous creature laying on his bed and kneels between his sprawled legs. 

He studies Dean for a minute; he seems to be uncomfortable, favoring his right side and then Methos remembers his wound. So he leans to the side to grab a small cushion that he places under Dean’s hips. 

"Better now," he says. 

The young man nods so Methos goes back to pouring oil on his hand. 

He grabs them both in hand and strokes, spreading the oil over both their cocks; the friction is delicious, the sensation of their flesh rubbing together has Methos moaning in pleasure. He wants Dean to abandon himself to the pleasure too so he leans down to kiss him deeply before starting to kiss down his neck, nipping at the bruises already there. 

He finds a nipple and gives it a lick before pulling away to blow on it and smirk in satisfaction when this gets him a shudder and moan from the boy. He lets go of their cocks so he can grab Dean’s legs and wrap them around his waist in a rendition of their position on the horse. Methos wants to distract the young man from the discomfort that’s coming so he grabs his cock again. 

Like that he starts inching forward until his cock is aligned with Dean’s entrance and starts pushing in. 

"Relax," he whispers when he feels the boy tensing again, "it will feel better," he says, stroking the boy’s cock and mouthing at his other nipple to distract him and help him relax. 

He keeps inching forward until he is fully seated inside. They both let out a groan and Methos has to make the conscious effort of not pounding the boy into the furs. 

Methos has to take a moment to just stop and breathe. Dean’s body is so tight and warm and it’s hugging him so excruciatingly perfect that Methos is finding it hard to not lose control. 

"You are beautiful," he says, staring into half-lidded eyes. 

Tentatively, the boy braces a hand on Methos’ shoulder, which he takes as cue to start moving. 

He sets a slow pace at first, the goal isn’t to hurt the boy. His thrusts are long and deep, searching for that special spot that will have Dean seeing stars. He knows he’s found it when the boy throws his head back and cries out in pleasure. Little by little the pace of his thrusts and strokes builds until Methos is all but hammering into the boy, their kisses nothing but sloppy press of lips and share pants. 

Dean explodes all over their stomachs and chests, his head thrown back and his inner walls clenching around Methos, who comes with a cry not long after. 

Neither move for a moment, both still breathing hard. Methos is the first to catch his breath and so he pulls out of the boy slowly. He stands up and with slightly wobbly legs he walks toward the back of the bedchamber to look for one of his slaves. 

All of them avert their eyes, probably because he is naked, which is amusing considering they’ve helped him bathe before. 

"Bring water and cloths,” he says firmly. "And the food I asked fot before."

One slave nods rapidly and without a glance his way, scurries out of the room. 

With a chuckle, Methos walks back into the room, pulling the curtain closed behind him. When he reaches the bed, he is struck by how lucky he is of having found such a beautiful creature.


	12. You’re Not in Kansas Anymore, Dorothy

Dean’s pov: 

After Methos goes to look for a slave Dean lets out a long sigh and lays back on the furs; he takes deep breaths, trying to calm his heart-rate and his racing thoughts. 

His most recurring thoughts are that he is obviously not in Kansas (or Colorado, if you want to get technical) anymore. He isn’t even in the same time period. And wow, how was that possible? Must have been part of the witch’s spell. 

Has he already mentioned he hates witches? Well he does. 

Also, did he just let this, most likely, mass-murder rider with dark soul-brown eyes, light-brown hair and admittedly nice body, take his virginity with a man? 

And god but didn’t he just sound like a girl?

Dean consoles himself by thinking it was better to surrender than fight because there was no point, the sex would have happened anyway and besides the guy had promised to make it good for him if he complied. And god but he had delivered,  
; best orgasm of his life. 

And honestly, fighting wouldn’t have accomplished anything. So yeah, temporary surrender it was. 

Dean isn’t fooling himself, the guy is attractive and Dean wants to stay alive long enough for him to sort out an escape plan; like seducing his captor into letting his guard down. 

There’s also something about Methos that Dean can’t pinpoint as of now. 

Now that he is relaxing he is made aware of the sharp pain making its way up his spine. 

Right. He’d been shot in the ass by that other asshole with a weird-ass name. 

Dean huffs and rolls to his side, hoping that would aliviate some of the pressure off his injury. After a few moments of just laying like that he hears a rustle, turning his head slightly to look over his shoulder he discovers Methos standing there... looking at him as a lion would a prey. 

He watches the still very naked guy walk back to the furs holding a basin and some cloths. Wordlessly he places the supplies in front of Dean and then sits behind him. 

Methos reaches over to grab one of the cloths and dip it in the basin, he squeezes it to get rid of the excess and then, to Dean’s astonishment, he starts cleaning him with gentle swipes over his chest and stomach. He gently cleans Dean’s cock and between his legs before bringing the fabric to carefully cleaning in between his buttcheeks. 

The slow, gentle swipes around and slightly inside his hole plus Methos’ hair and breath tickling the back of his neck have Dean squirming. There is a giggle trying to make its way out but Dean will be damned before he let it. 

He is not a girl. He doesn’t have to get all giggly when a boy tickles him.   
Not that Methos is a boy though. 

When Methos is done, he drops the sodden cloth into the basin and then he grabs the clean one. He picks the basin and stands up. 

Dean watches absentmindedly as Methos cleans himself quickly, leaves the stuff in a corner and then go to retrieve something from one of the chests. 

Dean is just laying there, still on his side, shocked. Don’t get him wrong, he is grateful for the cleanup but he’d never have expected this guy to clean him like one would do with a lover. 

Methos comes over to Dean’s side and crouches in front of him. "As much as I enjoy watching you laying there, my Adonis," he starts, placing a small jar on the floor. "I need you to get on your feet so I can remove some of those furs," he says, caressing Dean’s cheek. 

That doesn’t sound like fun, not with his ass-cheek injured. But Methos is stretching his arms to help him so Dean can lean some of his weight on him. Once standing, the man places Dean’s hands on his shoulders so he can have his own free. 

Methos leans down, making Dean stumble a little and he has to grit his teeth and steady himself by grabbing onto Methos’ shoulder and boy but isn’t he strong. 

"Come Adonis," Methos says, straightening up and disposing of the messy furs, "you can lay back down. Just do so on your front," he suggests. 

Dean does as told, sighing in relieve when his injury doesn’t protest. Damn, even three minutes of standing had made his ass hurt, sadly not in the good way. Laying on his stomach feels good though. 

He feels Methos settle next to him and hears him uncork something, probably the small jar, before the man speaks. "My brother got you good, didn’t he?" he says. 

Dean’s response is cut by a hiss when something cool is gently rubbed over his injury that makes it sting but when it recedes it actually feels better. 

"Yeah well, your brother’s an ass for shooting me in the ass," he snarks. 

Methos laughs good-humored. "Best not to say that to his face: my Adonis. Unless you would want him to shoot you in the other cheek."

That name again. What is it with this dude and that name? "You know my name is Dean, right?" he says exasperatedly. "Because I remember telling you that was my name."

"Yes but calling you after the most beautiful boy in the world, who had even Gods fighting over him, pleases me," he caresses Dean’s back fleetingly. "I’ll save your name for whenever I’m crossed or a special occasion," he leans into his ear. "Dean," he whispers before starting to lick the bruises he left on Dean’s neck. 

Methos follows the trail of licks and kisses down Dean’s spine. The hunter hopes the guy wouldn’t want to go again. His ass couldn’t take it. 

But no, instead the weirdo kisses his injury as moms do with children’s boo-boos. 

"Hey!" Dean yelps when the jackass nips at his buttcheek. "I’m not dinner."

The man chuckles, breath puffing against Dean’s skin and eliciting goosebumps. "Maybe you are,” he says, teasingly nipping at his other cheek. But he rolls off of Dean and stands up. "I will go see about the food I asked for," he says and walks away. 

Yeah, Dean thinks burrowing into the furs, seduction could be the easiest plan. 

. 

.


	13. Oddities and Other Sexiness

Bronze Age 

Methos pov 

Methos reclines back against the pillows with a contented sigh. Dean (and isn’t that an odd name) is next to him, still resting on his front. 

The Horseman can’t help the small smile at the soft purr the boy lets out when Methos starts carding fingers through his short, silky hair. It’s obvious by the slowing of his breathing that the gentle ministrations are sending him into a light doze. 

His poor Adonis must be tired, Methos musses. He’ll let the boy rest while the food arrives. 

But as he sits there just petting his boy, he can’t stop his thoughts from wandering. 

It’s odd, the ease with which Dean had submitted. After the fight he’d given Kronos, Methos had expected more resistance from the young man. Someone with such a fiery spirit, surrendering so quickly... it’s somewhat suspicious. 

Cassandra had taken months before she bent and then after Kronos she had escaped. Methos wouldn’t want Dean...

His thoughts are mercifully interrupted by two of his slaves bringing them food. 

Methos signals for them to place the assorted foods and the jug of wine on the floor and then scurry away, closing the curtains as they go. 

Methos turns to Dean and nudges him. "Wake up, my Adonis," he says, rousing him from his light doze. 

The boy snuffles, opening sleepy, forest-green eyes and the immortal is again struck by how beautiful Dean is; especially his eyes and those tiny stars on his skin. "Wha-?" he starts in a rough voice. 

Methos huffs a laugh, running a quick hand through the younger’s hair. "Food is here so, could you roll into your uninjured side for me?"

As the boy does that, Methos piles extra cushions behind himself so he has better support. That done, he pulls the tray closer and then comes the real question: how to do this? 

Maybe if he sat Dean sideways on his lap the other can rest against Methos comfortably...  
he picks the boy up and places him on his thigh only half-sideways so that his injured buttcheek is pressure-free. 

"Is this alright?" he asks just to be sure. 

"Yeah," is the response. 

Methos nods and grabs a fig to feed it to the boy. 

"I can feed myself, you know?" Dean protests. 

"I am aware." Methos shrugs. "But feeding you pleases me."

The boy grumbles but accepts the offered fruit. His pouty lips surround Methos’ fingers, teeth biting the fig and tongue licking the errant juice. 

Methos’ breath hitches, the sight arousing. 

And by the gods but Methos wants to finger-feed this boy every time. 

He pushes the bowl with fruit toward the boy and leans closer to his ear. "You can feed me too," he whispers. 

Dean gives him a look and for a moment Methos thinks he will rebel and refuse but he snorts and mumbles something that sounds like ‘chick flick’ whatever that is and selects a fig from the bowl. He presents it to Methos, who slowly bends his neck and with only his lips takes the fruit and suggestively licks between the boy’s digits to catch any drop left behind. 

His Adonis, just as he had expected, isn’t immune to this and his breath hitches more than once. Good. 

Methos finds this relaxing, enjoying a sensual hand-feeding with his Adonis is something he could get accustomed to. 

They continue until there is nothing but the wine left and that one they can finish off later. 

So Methos helps Dean lay down on the furs again, once that’s done he stands up and goes instruct his slaves to take the empty bowls away. 

They drink in comfortable silence, there is a pleasant buzz on Methos head now and going by the lax body next to him, he guesses Dean has fallen asleep. 

The Horseman gets to his feet again and carries the jug to leave it atop one of the chests in the back of the chamber. 

Before laying down again, he admires the lean body of his Adonis, noting with satisfaction that the salve is doing its work. 

Why Kronos had to shoot him in the ass off all places, Methos shakes his head annoyed with his brother. Hopefully it will heal quickly. 

Laying on his back next to Dean, he grabs him by the arms and tugs him up to rest over his chest. 

"Hey!" Dean yelps at the unexpected manhandling. 

Methos chuckles softly, bringing a hand to card through the blonde hair and the other encircles Dean’s waist to come rest possessively over the uninjured cheek. "Sleep, my Adonis," he whispers against the soft hair. 

"That’s what I was doing before you manhandled me," is the snappish reply. 

"Hmm." Methos lifts his hand and brings it down swiftly with a smack, which earns him a pained ‘what the hell’ from the boy. "That was for being mouthy, Dean," he says, emphasizing his name, as he soothes the reddened globe with the same hand. 

Some irritated grumbling answers him and moments later the boy has dozed off. 

Sleep doesn’t come as quicly for Methos, though. There is a lot on his mind; like the fact that he would have to tell Kronos he’ll have to wait after Dean has healed to have his two times with him. He wants his Adonis to rest and heal before anything. 

He also has to help sort the slaves and other bounty and start planning the next raid. 

Methos is curious about the clothes Dean was wearing, the pants’ material didn’t look like anything he’s seen before. There’s also the surprised but unfrightened reaction to seeing Methos healed from his wound. 

His last conscious thought before sleep claims him is what in the gods’ name is a vampire and a ghoul.


	14. After Night

Bronze Age

Methos’ pov

A body snuggling closer makes Methos wake up with a smile. His Adonis is drapped all over him; silky hair tickling under his chin and moist breath puffing against one of his nipple, not at all helping with his morning problem. 

He squirms at the delicious sensation; he caresses his boy’s back and over an uninjured glute which results in a soft breath. Methos knows he should get up soon but he just wants to spend some time with Dean before having to leave him alone all day. 

He disentangles the boy who grumbles sleepily amd burrows deeper into the furs. Methos smiles to himself as he walks to a set of chests to pick some clothes and a longer shirt for Dean to wear and not flash his gorgeous body to the slaves. 

Once dressed, he moves toward the courtains to whistle one of his slaves over. "Bring food and drink," he commanded to the young girl. "I will be gone most of the day and he will need his salve applied again later," the girl nods in understanding before being dismissed. 

He walks to the bed and kneels next to his sleeping Adonis, carding a hand through the mussed hair to wake him up. "I have to reapply your salve," he says softly. 

"M’kay," is the mumbled reply. 

Methos uncorks the vial, scooping up a glob of sticky substance and covers the wound with it eliciting a soft ‘ouch’ from the boy. 

"Sh, my Adonis. I know it hurts but you need this to heal," he says, corking the jar again and leaving it to the side. "Now I need you to lean on your forearm for a moment," he shows the shirt to sleepy green eyes as explanation. 

He does as asked, lifting himself as best he can on his forearm and with Methos’ help gets the garment on. Something tightnes inside Methos at seeing Dean wearing his shirt but this isn’t the time to explore that feeling. 

Before letting him lay down again, Methos grabs him by the chin to kiss him deeply. "I will be gone the whole day, you are to remain here. Eat. Rest. Heal," he punctuates each word to get his meaning across. "Dean," he adds the name for good measure. 

The boy nods his understanding and with one last kiss Methos walks out of his room. 

Methos can walk the winding halls of the fortress with his eyes closed. It had been smart planning on his part what had gotten them this place. 

It’s the best setup they’ve had so far; spacious enough for each of them to set their lodgings far from one another. Keep their slaves away from one another. 

Methos steps into the courtyard where the sorting wilk take place, nervous chatter can be heard coming from the slave-pen. 

"And here I was thinking you wouldn’t make an appearance today and we’d have to save you your part," is Kronos slightly mocking greeting as he joins him. "Thought our pretty boy would have worn you out," he smirks.

"’Our’? Remember I’m the one who granted you two times with him." Methos shoots back. 

Just the thought of his Adonis under Kronos rough hands makes his fist clench in anger. 

"Those times I look forward to," his brother replies. "You have always had excellent taste, I can’t be blamed for wanting you to share. Not when I have complete trust in your opinions," he speaks quietly, having moved so close to Methos. 

"Who are we sharing?" Caspian’s question breaks the moment. 

"None of your concern," answers Kronos, stepping away from Methos. "Not when you go through slaves like a knife through butter," he says cooly. 

If Methos doesn’t like the idea of Kronos interested in his Dean, he likes the idea of Caspian forming an interest even less. 

"Can we start with the sorting?" he says, wanting to focus their attention on the task at hand. 

"You look troubled, brother." Silas says, coming to stand next to him. 

Methos is sometimes still surprised by this bear of a man having such a childlike persona and, in his way, a caring heart. Especially where Methos is concerned. 

"It’s nothing," he reassures. "I just want to get this over with so I can go attend to my own things."

"Yes, me as well." Silas agrees. "A baby lamb was born yesterday;" he says with a big grin. 

Methos smiles lightly at him. "There are some little ones that came with the slaves, will you let them help with the animals?” 

He knows the best chance of survival of the children is to go with Silas. Especially not Caspian. 

Silas can only nod before they hear Kronos bark orders and round the terrified slaves to stand on a line. Caspian, being the sadist he was, immediately goes for the most terrified and weaker-looking of the group. Those poor women won’t last a day, most likely. 

Kronos has selected a few attractive men and women and as predicted, Silas has gathered the younglings, petting them on the head as if they were his pets. 

Methos looks at the slaves left until a boy with auborn curls that’s trying to make himself unnoticeable catches his attention so the Horseman walks towards him. 

"What’s your name, boy?” he asks. 

The boy shrinks into himself at seeing Methos standing in front of him. "Ashur," he replies in a barely audible voice. 

Methos offers a hand to Ashur who stares from it to Methos’ face a couple of times before finally taking it. "I’m your best choice at staying alive," he tells the boy as he guides him to his side. "As long as you do as I bid you’ll be fed and safe," he explains. 

He thinks Ashur would be perfect company for a recovering Dean. The protective nqture he’d seen when his Adonis was helping that woman and her daughter will make him focus on Ashur, keeping him occupied instead of machinating an escape while Methos is away. 

The rest of the slaves are divided quickly, Methos feels sympathy for the ones Caspian chose; there’s one already sporting a black eye, unaware that her whimpering will only fuel him on. 

They move to the material part of the bounty. Methos collects a good portion of gold, ceramic objects such as govlets and fabrics since some of his slaves can sew. The last item in catching his eye is a necklace with an amber stone that has the infinity symbol engrave on it. For reasons he doesn’t really know he wants to give it to Dean. 

Not today though. Maybe on a special day. 

Once he’s got his spoils he decides to return to his quarters to leave everything and get Ashur to Dean. 

"I’m done here," he tells Kronos as he walks by. "I will come back later to discuss our next raid."

His brother gives Ashur an appraising look. "Have you grown tired of the other already, brother? Or are you looking to spice things up?" he asks provocatively. 

Ashur pales even further and Methos feels like punching Kronos. "Nothing of the sort," he answers curtly. "He is no different to the others I’ve chosen," with that he resumes walking back to his chambers and his Dean.


	15. Let’s do the Time Warp Again

Bromze Age

Dean’s pov  
Dean’s morning starts in a daze; the state between sleep and awake where everything is cotton soft and warm and you perceive the world through a luminous sheen of water. There are gentle fingers running through his hair and a soft caress down along his spine and- wait, was that a squeeze to his ass? 

Huh, odd. 

Anyway, this is comfy and warm so Dean snuggles closer, ready to drop back to dreaming but, ah, all good things come to an end because then the body beneath him is moving away. 

Dean grumbles in annoyance as he’s laid on the furs and his heater is gone. The jostling serves to fully wake him so he is aware of Methos searching for something in the far side of the room. 

The man walks back to him already dressed, holding a piece of cloth in his hands. He sits down next to Dean and picks up the small jar. 

Damn, is this what being a nudist feel like? 

Dean groans, burrowing his face in a pillow. "Is that necessary?"

Methos smiles apologetically. "This will help you heal faster," he says. 

Dean groans again and prepares for the sting. Or tried to. "Ouch," he hisses. 

"Sh, Adonis. This is for your own good. " 

"Your Kronos friend is an ass, have I said that already?" he mumbles. Will he ever stop with that stupid nickname? 

The horseman chuckles. "Yes, you have. Loudly, may I add," he replies, finishing with the salve. 

Dean hears the rustling of the curtains as the slaves walk in carrying food and drink and whoa, when did the guy had time to go get sustenance?

Methos unfolds the cloth he’d been holding, which turns out to be a long shirt, and motions for Dean to incorporate as best he can and then helps him put it on. This is great because Dean didn’t want to have his ass on display. One nude horse-ride had been enough, thank you very mu.ch. 

"Listen," his captor starts seriously. "I have to go now. You stay here; rest and eat and the slaves will help you to more salve later," he leans forward and grabs his chin. "I will see you later, Dean," he emphasizes. 

Dean knows the man is waiting for some prove of understanding but the hold on his chin makes it hard to do. So he tries to convey it with his eyes, hoping the man can see that and be satisfied. 

Methos must notice because he nods once then bends over and kisses him deeply. And damn but this guy knows how to kiss. 

After what seems like hours, Methos pulls away and then is gone. 

Dean just sits there, trying not to lose any more marbles. As he apparently has nothing better to do he might as well get stock of his situation. He’s been here for a day and yet it feels like eons. 

Alright, here’s what he knows:

He is definitely no longer on the American continent. Probably somewhere in Europe or Asia. This also must be the past, like really ancient past. Should’ve paid more attention in history class instead of Linda Bell’s low-cut blouse. Yeah, thanks brain. 

Dean isn’t about to touch what happened between him and that Methos guy with a 10-feet pole. I mean, he is gorgeous in a barbaric sort of way but the power dynamics and the non-con elements are a total ‘toxic, do not touch’ for Dean. 

Which brings him to the next point: escape. Before I develop Stockholm syndrome or whatever. 

After a very uncomfortable re appliance of thesalve, Dean makes use of his charm to subtly interrogate the slaves and see what he can learn. He confirms the when and also has a better idea of the where. Sabrina sent him somewhere in the Bronze Age-ha, see brain? I did pay attention to something other than boobs- and going by the unknown name of the location given by the slaves hints to the Middle-East. 

But wait, how the fuck is he able to understand these people? Because he sure as hell left America speaking english so, how? Did that spell included a world translator? Because they should be speaking gibberish to each other. He can picture the clusterfuck it’d have been if there were a language barrier between these folks and him. 

Not that he’d be thanking that witchabitch for this. Heeeell nope. She is sure as dead when Dean gets himself back to the future haha see what I did there? 

Dean is so engrossed in his thoughts that he is startled when Methos is stepping in with a curly haired kid in tow. In that moment he is glad he made the effort of putting the shirt on, the kid already looks terrified. 

He can imagine what the reaction to being guided by a man into a room where there is another-naked- guy laying on the bed would be. 

"Dean," the horseman greets, "this is Ashur," he points towards the curly haired guy who still looked at the floor. "He is to stay here, keep you company and help you with whatever you need," he says as he walks towards Dean. "He is still a little shaken," he whispers before bending down to steal a kiss and caress Dean’s cheek. "I have to leave again, I still have plans to make but I wanted to bring him here first. I will come back later," he gives Dean a meaningful look before standing and walking out again. 

The kid, who looks to be Dean’s age, is still standing awkwardly near the entrance with his hands clasped behind his back.

"Ah," the injured man starts unsure. "You can sit dowm, you know?"

The boy raises his head, eyes wide but he nods and goes to drop down next to him. He still looks shaky so Dean motions to the food and jug of wine. 

They eat in silence, which seems to help Ashur relax somewhat. 

"Listen," he starts, not really knowing how to phrase this. "You’ll be alright here," he says, chewing his lower lip. "Of all four of them, Methos is apparently the safest to be with. Or so his slaves tell me," he shrugs helplessly. 

Of what he gathered, all the slaves are scared of Caspian because not many of his slaves survive more than two days. Especially women. Kronos is rough, especially in bed which agh, I still have two times in the sac with the guy. At least I will survive them. 

Silas and Methos are the lesser of two evils. 

"As long as you do what he asks of you then you’ll be alright," he continues. 

The boy only gives him a skeptical look but doesn’t say anything. Now that he has a better look at his companion, his auburn curls and blue eyes, he reminds Dean of a certain someone he met a while ago. 

That’s what makes him decide that if he ever escapes, he’ll bring Ashur with him.


	16. Curly, Larry and lo- Moe?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: date is 1980, not ‘99.

1999 Washington, 

Dean inhales the cool evening air as he walks down the street to the convenience store to get dinner. 

His dad had gone on another hunt, thankfully leaving them enough money to last two weeks if they rationalize. He wishes John would finally let him come on a hunt but there’s Sam. 

There’s always Sam. 

Dean doesn’t mind taking care of his little brother, that’s all his dad has ever asked of him, but there is the rebellious part that craves the action. You could say it’s in his blood, the hunting instinct. 

But again, Sammy. 

Dean enters the store and pauses at the variation of options. He feels like splurging tonight, he’s got the means after all. So he grabs himself two burgers, a coke, his brother’s rabid food and some more snaks he doesn’t usually has the chance to buy so now that he has he’s gotta. 

He’s whistling away to Metallica, bouncing his groceries to the rhythm, when a yelp interrupts him. 

Dean feels a thrill going down his spine at the prospect of a monster lurking in an alley. A monster he’d get to kill. 

So he hides his purchases next to a dumpster and with a surprising amount of stealth, goes to investigate. 

Dean pats his jacket’s pockets, relieved when he finds his knife and gun in there. Especially as he walks into the alley to find a kid (not that older than himself) being pressed into the wall by a tall guy who is, disgustingly, lick-smelling his neck. 

Why are they always creeps? he sighs, repairing on the jacket carelessly laying on the ground. 

"Hey, asshole! No one ever taught you about consent?" he calls out. 

The guy stops what he’s doing to turn his head towards Dean, nasty smile made worse by the rows of pointy teeth. 

Vampire. Awesome. Again, why are they always creeps? 

"Oh what is this? Two street-kids for the price of one?" Vamp licks his lips as he racks his gaze down Dean’s body. "Must be my lucky night.”

Dean rolls his eyes because seriously? Also ew, fangs ain’t his kink. "Don’t think so, pal," he says with a thin smile. 

He pulls his gun out, sending quick thanks to Bobby for the dead man’s blood bullets, and trains it on the blood-sucker. 

The vampire hisses and recoils. "Just what I needed, a hunter," he sighs, his hold on the boy tightening absentmindedly, making him whimper quietly. "Look-"

But Dean doesn’t give him a chance; he fires, hitting the creature square on the chest. The vampire drops the boy as he falls down. God blessed dead man’s blood. 

Still, one can never be too careful. So he pulls out the machete he’d brought with him and decapitates the creature without second thought. 

"Hey Curly, you okay?" he asks, wincing in sympathy when the guy throws up. 

"Unless your name is Larry and you’re expecting Moe to pop up, my name is Richie," the redhead says after, pulling himself together and collecting his jacket. 

Dean grins. "Name’s Dean," he introduces himself. "Though if we found someone else I might be persuaded to change it," he winks. 

Richie huffs a laugh, though it’s obvious he’s still shaken. "So," he starts hesitantly, "that really happened, huh?" he points at the vampire’s severed head. 

"Yep." Dean confirms. 

"Vampires are real. Huh," the guy says dazedly. 

Dean sneaks a look to his phone, cursing under his breath at the time. "Alright, dude I gotta go back to my little brother so you’re welcome to come have your breakdown in the motel and then I’ll explain." Dean motions to the vampire. 

The guy looks skeptic and a bit reluctant, which is understandable after what he just went through. Unfortunately he doesn’t have time for this. 

So with a roll of his eyes, he takes the knife out of his pocket and offers it hilt-first to Richie. "Here, you can hold onto this if it helps," he says and goes to fetch his groceries. 

"Huh, what are you, Van Helsing?" the redhead mumbles. 

Dean shrugs with his armful of bags. "In that case you should be safe," he winks and motions for him to follow. 

-

"Dean, what took you so long-" Sam stops his rant to frown at the guest before bitch-facing Dean. "Dean," he repeats reproachful and judging, "who is this? You know dad won’t be happy when he finds out you brought someone."

"Well, he nearly got bitten so I offered to explain things," the older Winchester says, unconcerned. "So stop bitching and come get your rabid food," he goes to put his bags on the ratty table to unpack the stuff. 

"What do you mean ‘nearly got bitten’?" Sam asks, still frowning. 

"Aren’t you supposed to be the smart one, Sammy?" Dean says mockingly before catching Richie lurking near the door, still holding the knife, and snorts. "You can sit, you know? We have food and tv," he says, pointing at the bed. 

Reluctant still, the guy walks towards the bed and drops the weapon down before following himself. 

Dean meanwhile, is passing his salad to Sam, then joins the other and offers him one of the burgers. "You look like you need it," he says with a shrug. 

They eat sitting in the beds, watching the tailend of some show in comfortable silence until it ends and what do you know, the Three Stooges come on screen. 

"Well Curly, it seems we’re now three." Dean says, bitting off laughter. Then he shares a look with Richie and they are off. They laugh until their stomachs ache with Sam grumbling about immature idiots as he finishes his salad. 

That night, for the first time in a while, both boys sleep through the night curled around each other.


	17. Chapter 17

After Sam’s incessant pestering, Dean finally caves and lets his brat of a little brother go spend the rest of the week at a friend’s house. 

Thing is, Dean can sort of understand that this life can be too much. What he can’t understand though, is Sam’s attitude. The kid is treating it like the best vacation ever. As if you needed a vacation from your own family. 

"Well Larry, seems we’re only two again," the redhead comments. 

Dean turns his head and grins. "Can you still call me Larry, then?" he teases. 

Richie shrugs. "Point taken," he adopts a thoughtful expression. "Dean," he pronounces it carefully, as if it were a word he just learnt. 

An involuntary shiver runs down Dean’s back at the way the other boy says his name. He ignores it of course and gives his friend a critical look. "When was the last time you had a change of clothes?"

Richie gives himself a onceover and them looks at Deam with a frown. "What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?"

Dean rolls his eyes. "Nothin’," he grabs the motel’s key and his wallet and motions for Richie to follow. "That’s why we’ll go get you new stuff."

Despite his protests, Richie follows. 

They spend the day going from thrift store to thrift store, purchasing a couple new things for Richie; a new pair of jeans, a belt and a few tees. 

"I’m not a charity case, y’know?" Richie mutters when Dean suggests another store. 

Dean sighs, throwing his hands up in the air before turning around. "I know, jackass," he grumbles but he understands Richie so he leaves it alone. "C’mon, I’m hungry," he says, starting to walk towards a burger joint he’d seen earlier. 

"So," the redhead starts once they have placed their order. "You gonna explain the whole..." he makes an encompasing gesture with a hand. "Van Hellsiing?"

Dean gives him his most serious look. "If I told you," he says, effecting his voice. "I’d have to kill you.” 

Richie gives him a considering look, probably weighing the veracity of that statement. Then he breaks into a grin. "A’right hotshot," he chuckles. "I gotta state that I actually nearly became vampire snack, so..." he trails off with another hand gesture. 

Dean rubs his face a bit too roughly. "Yeah, okay. But not here," he murmurs. 

Richie nods his agreement because yeah, public place. 

They eat their burgers in amicable silence, there is no need for words. 

Dean feels nerves creeping in at the prospect of letting Richie in on the family secret. This couldn’t end well for either of them. 

But the guy was nearly eaten so he sorta owes it to him to explain. 

So just arriving back to the motel, Dean makes the redhead sit down so he can launch into his explanation. 

Dean talks about family business, helping people, hunting things all the usual shpill. He speaks about werewolves (the real deal), Rugarus, Wendigos and all the catalogue before finally arriving to vampires. 

"Wait, wait, wait." Richie interrupts, blue eyes wide and palms up in a time-out. "Monsters are really real?" he asks with plain disbelief, despite having vampire fangs inches from his neck only yesterday. 

Dean blinks owlishly at his companion. "I’m sure that’s what I just said," he speaks each word slowly, as if explaining something to a kid. 

Richie tugs at his hair. "What the fuck," he whispers. 

"Regretting you asked for an explanation?" Dean says teasingly. 

Richie closes his mouth, which had apparently been hanging open, and squints at Dean. "What about vampires, then?"

Dean exhales slowly. "Alright, listen," he looks at Richie seriously, "not that you’ll need this in the future but the way to go with vamps is chopping their heads off," he says as if stating a common-known fact. 

"But you shot it first and it seem to work," the guy points out. 

"Ah-ah," Dean rubs the back of his neck. "That’s... nothing you need to concern yourself with," he says lamely. 

"Why not?" the other pushes. 

"Because those bullets aren’t easy to get and they don’t really kill ‘em." Dean snaps, already doubting his decision of letting Richie in on the secret. 

Richie huffs. "Can you at least teach me to fight?" he asks hopefully. 

Dean drags a hand down his face and shrugs. "Yeah, don’t see why not," he agrees because really there’s no harm in it. "Later though and not here," he hurries to add for good measure. 

Richie only rolls his eyes. 

That night they sleep in the same bed again. Seemingly forgetting the empty bed in the other side of the room. 

-

Dean stares at his phone with indecision. He knows who he wants to call, he just doesn’t know how. And that’s what pushes him to action. 

"¿Hola?" is the cautious greeting after two rings. 

"Rosy, ¿ya te olvidaste de mi?" is what he chooses to open with. 

There’s a pause and then- "Dean?" spoken hopefully. 

He grins. "Ese hri," he replies. 

"Oh. Por. Dios. ¡Deano!" Rosario exclaims cheerfully. "¿Quiúbole tú? Hace tjempo que no sabía deti," she says reproachfully. 

Dean sighs, she’s right. He hasn’t kept in contact lately, despite them being friends. They had met three years ago when his dad drove them to Mexico to help Silvestre-Rosario’s dad- with a werejaguar hunt. It had taken months so Dean got to learn Spanish and how to cook proper mexican food, amongst other cool stuff like rites and legends. 

"...tu familia?" Rosy is saying, bringing Dean back to the present. 

"Huh," he starts distracted, before his brain reconnects. "A, está bien, Rosy. ¿La tuya?" he asks politely. 

There’s an amused huff from the other side. "¿Ves? Por eso necesitas llamar más seguido, necesitas practicar," she laughs her raspy laugh before clearing her throat. "Ahora en serio, ¿necesitas algo?" she asks. 

Dean takes in a deep breath. "Cómo hacer chilaquiles."

-

After a trip to a whole-in-the-wall store and a fishy market, Dean returns to the motel questioning his decisions. But there is a Kitchenette in the room and Dean is gonna so take advantage of it. 

Still, if he had known getting all he needed would be this hard... 

"¡Carajo!" Dean yelps when the door suddenly pulls open. 

"Que- ce que tu fais?" Richie snaps, looking at him through narrowed eyes. "Je me suis levé et tu n’étais plus ici," he goes on annoyed. 

Dean stares in astonishment because, wow. "Ah, you speak French," he points out the obvious. 

Richie smirks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello?
> 
> Rosy, have you forgotten about me?
> 
> That one. 
> 
> Oh. My. God. 
> 
> What’s up? It’s been a while. How’s your family?
> 
> Ah, they’re alright. Yours?
> 
> You see? That’s why you have to call more often, you need practice. Now seriously, you need anything?  
> -
> 
> Fuck!
> 
> What are you doing? I got up and you were gone.


	18. Curly, Larry and lo-Moe?  (3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last part. Enjoy the fluff.

Alright," Dean claps once and gets into a fighting stance, "show me what you’ve got," he says, making a ‘come here’ motion with a hand, like in the movies. 

Richie raises an eyebrow. "This ain’t a karate movie, man," he says with a laugh. 

Today is Wednesday, his father is due back on Saturday evening and Dean has finally come up with a plan of action for these remaining three days. Today is the turn for sparring lessons. 

He’s brought them to an abandoned warehouse he noticed when he drove them here so they can... kick each other’s asses uninterrupted. 

Dean rolls his eyes, making the same hand motion again. "Whatever. Now grasshopper, you gonna come at me and show me what you’ve got," he commands. 

Richie sighs, gives Dean an assessing look and runs at him. 

Dean sidesteps and tackles Richie to the ground, the redhead squirms uselessly in an attempt to dislodge Dean but he doesn’t budge. 

Then, in a moment of madness, he leans in and whispers ‘and now you’re dead’ into the other’s ear. 

A shudder runs through Richie’s body and they both freeze, surprised and unsure, because what had just happened?

"Ah," Dean stumbles a little. "We should-" he shakes his head to reboot his brain. "Let’s do that again."

He scrambles quickly to his feet, helping Richie up too, his expression somewhat dazed. He nods absentmindedly and walks to his previous spot. Nerves still rippling with electricity. 

Dean takes a fortifying breath and resumes his earlier position. "Alright. So this is what you do; you’ll come to me again and I’ll tell you what to do," he says, voice slightly shaky. 

Richie huffs a breath but does as he is told. He starts towards Dean, who sidesteps but grabs him by the shoulder before Richie face-planted into the pavement. "This is when you let their momentum carry them and punch them behind their ear," he demonstrates by touching his fist to said spot. Then he smirks and tackles Richie to the ground yet again. 

Richie stares up at him, something flashes behind his eyes and then, without knowing how, Dean finds himself the one looking up. 

"What?" Richie gifts him a shit-eating grin. "You thought I didn’t have tricks of my own?"

Dean knows that he might swallow a fly if he doesn’t close his mouth, it’s just that... having the other boy astride him like this makes something awaken inside him. 

Something that makes him want to bring the other down and kiss him. 

Instead he plasters a smirk on hiis face. "On the contrary Curly, I’m sure you are very resourceful," and it doesn’t sound half-lame. "So lets try you again. "

And they do. They sparr until Richie is tackling Dean as often as he’s being tackled. 

Though Dean is sure he would be victorious more times if he weren’t distracted. 

"Okay, okay," Dean pants, laying back on the ground resting his hands on his heaving chest. "I think we can stop for now," he breathes out slowly. 

Richie smirks smugly. "Why, Larry, are you giving up?" he asks, waggling an eyebrow. 

Dean rolls his eyes but smirks too. "I don’t think your pretty face could take another bruise," he jibes. 

Wait. What did he just-

Richie tilts his head, affecting confusion. "You think my face is pretty?" he asks innocently. 

"Nah." Dean plays it off and punches Richie on the arm for good measure. "’Course not," he mutters unconvincingly. 

Richie only continues to smirk, his eyes twinkling. Still sitting on Dean. 

Dean swallows the sudden lump lodged in his throat, rolls Richie off   
and stands up in one smooth movement. "I’m hungry, lets get some food."

Something like disappointment crosses Richie’s blue eyes but Dean doesn’t have the capacity to unpack it. 

Not yet. 

-

On Thursday Dean decides he will teach Richie how to throw a knife. 

He brings his friend back to the warehouse where he set up a target practice. 

"I hope your aim is good," he pats Richie on the back. "I care abouf all my limbs intact."

Richie snorts and shakes his head. "Worry not, sensei," he says with a mock-formal tone. "My aim is excellent."

Dean sighs, affecting aggravation. "Yes, yes my padawan," he unsheathes his trusted throwing knife. "Okay so," he steps behind Richie to help him get into position; shoulders squared, legs apart, "this is what you do," he shows him how to hold the weapon with three fingers. "Now you bring your arm back like this," he shows him how, "it’ll give you speed and strength," he makes some minor adjustments and then steps back. "Now, let go," he instructs. 

Richie does. 

The knife sails on in a perfect arch...

...that hits the bottle dead on. 

Dean’s jaw crashes to the floor. 

"Ha!" Richie hoots cheerfully, turning his glee-stricken face to him. "How was that?"

Dean gathers up his jaw and scowls. "Beginner’s luck," he grumbles. 

Richie looks smug. "Three of three and you buy me dinner," he proposes. 

Dean raises an eyebrow. "You’re so sure of yourself?"

Richie only gives him a cocky grin. 

Dean narrows his eyes. "You are so on."

Guess who won. 

-

It’s Friday, the last day with Richie, and Dean has a plan. 

The redhead had given some excuse about running an errand, disappearing the hell knows where all morning. 

So Dean is taking full advantage of the time to use the kitchenette to prepare some food for the picnic he has planned. 

"Okay, lets do this," he nods to himself. "Manos a la obra." 

He turns the small radio that sometimes plays spanish songs on and puts his hands to work. 

Empanadas and chilaquiles may not be the best finger-food for a day in the park but they are awesome and he is sure Richie will like them. 

He wishes he had more chances to prepare food like this but ah, no use complaining about it. 

He wishes he could make food for Richie because god knows the boy is too skinny and needs to be fed better. ..

Dean huffs, rolling his eyes at himself, why in the world would he want to keep that snarky redhead? 

Dean shakes his head, catching the start of a song he hasn’t heard in a while. A song that, in a deep and secret pocket of his heart, means a lot to him. 

Melodía de amor, voz nacida del alma.   
Chuchu por tu amor canto esta canción. 

Dean dances around, immersed in the song as he cooks. 

And, unbidden, he thinks of Richie. 

Cuando te conocí, te conocí, me enamoré de ti, de ti de ti de ti, y cuando, y cuando, y cuando te besé mi amor... no sé lo que sentí. 

"Que-ce que tu fais?"

Dean is sure his heart just lurch so hard it might get lodged in his throat. He turns, a hand on his heart, to find Richie standing near the close door, smirking. 

"For the love of-" he hisses. "What are you doing?"

Richie chuckles, as if Dean has just made a joke. 

Dean scowls, folding his arms and leaning against the counter. "What is so amusing?" he snaps because hell, this asshole had seen him... dance and sing in spanish. He had sneaked on him as if he weren’t a trained hunter. 

Richie sobers up, clearing his throat. "Sorry, it’s just that that was my question," he tries for a smirk. "In french." 

Dean raises an eyebrow. "What you mean?" 

Richie grins sheepishly. "’Que-ce que tu fais?’" he reminds. "What are you doing?" he gives him a look, willing him to understand. 

But Dean just stares blankly. "Qué rayos," he mumbles. "What is that?" he asks, pointing to a container he just repaired on. 

"Oh?" Richie frowns before understanding and looking down to what he was holding. "Ah, this," he shakes it, "is something to eat," he says shyly. 

Dean smirks. "Don’t tell me you sneaked into somewhere to steal food?" he teases. 

Richie blushes and oh, it looks adorable on him. "I sneaked into a previous foster home to cook," he huffs a little embarrassingly. "I know the maid."

Dean cocks an eyebrow. "Cook what?" he prompts. 

Richie bites his lower lip. "Pierogi," he mumbles. 

Dean blinks in confusion because that’s a word he hasn’t heard before. "Aaand that is?"

Richie’s blue eyes widen and, if it were possible, his jaw would be hitting the floor. "You don’t know what pierogi is?" he even sounds offended as he shrieks the question. 

Dean narrows his eyes. "Oh so you wanna do this," he nods once to himself. "Do you know what chilaquiles are?" he asks nonchalantly. 

The expression on Richie’s face is priceless. 

-

They walk towards a quiet park near the motel, food inside a duffle just for pretense-sake. But their time together is coming to an end so who really gives a damn about those details?

They spread one of the motel’s blankets on the grass under a tree and, toeing their shoes off, promptly sit down and start unpacking the containers. 

Dean offers Richie the chilaquiles with a teasing smirk, the redhead rolls his eyes and shoves the pierogi into Dean’s hands in return. 

"Bueno Curly," Dean starts, waggling his eyebrows. "Buen provecho."

Richie’s eyes gleam. "Bon appetit, Larry," he says. 

Noupe, Dean didn’t just melt with the sound of the ‘r’ in that accent. So he opens the container and stuffs some food into his mouth. 

"Man, this is awesome," he moans through a mouthful of delicious cheese-filled noodle. 

Richie grimaces. "Didn’t your mother teach you any manners?"

Dean has to make an effort not to choke with the food. "She didn’t get to teach me much," he swallows. "Considering she died when I was four."

Richie stays quiet for a while, nibbling at a piece of empanada. "Mine died when I was four, too," he finally says, not looking at Dean. "What a coincidence to have," his smile is more a grimace. 

They eat the rest in silence, the mood heavy. They both are not that good at feelings but still the awkwardness is not enough to kill their appetite. 

Which shouldn’t be surprising; the food is great. 

When they finish eating, they lay together on the blanket not really wanting to go back to the motel. There’s an unspoken agreement of spending all the time they could together. 

The time they still have. 

"Where did you learn to cook like that?" Richie asks after some time of quietness. 

"Mexico." Dean answers, staring up at the canopy of the tree. "Stayed there for a while when my dad had a hunt," he says. 

"What do you hunt for in Mexico?" Richie asks curiously. 

Dean shrugs. "Chupacabras, werecreatures, some weird dwarfish-like creatures that haunt the South," he says, as if stating the weather. "Met a Mexican god once."

Richie scoffs. "Right you did," he sasses. "Which god was that?"

"Tezcatlipoca." Dean answers assuredly. 

"The jaguar god?" Richie gasps in astonishment. 

"Yup." Dean replies noncommittaly. 

"Huh," the other mumbles. "Sounds like fun."

"What about you though,” he changes the subject, not wanting to dwell, "where you learned to cook?"

"One of my foster homes." Richie says softly. "The mother taught me."

"Have you been in many?" Dean asks cautiously. 

"In some," the other boy replies. 

"Are they all bad?"

Richie exhales. "The ones I’ve been in, yes. Though not at first," he pauses. "Like the one I learnt to cook at, it was nice at first," he’s making an effort to sound calm, Dean notices. "Until the older son started touching me," he whispers brokenly. 

Dean almost chokes on air. But Richie doesn’t need nor want pity so he offers none. However, very slowly, he takes Richie’s hand and squeezes. "What you did?"

"I ran away, no one would have believed me," the redhead laughs short and humorless. 

Dean has never felt closer to anyone than what he does to Richie in that moment. In a remote corner of his soul he wishes he could stay with him instead of going back to his family. 

Stay with Richie and protect him from the darkness of the world. And feed him. And train him. And lo- nope, not gonna go there. 

But that won’t happen. 

So Dean repairs right then that he will pay for his friend to stay a few days more in the motel and give him one of his favorite knives. 

He couldn’t stay with Richie so he will leave a piece of himself with him.


End file.
